


Dinner for Two

by Mina Lightstar (ukefied)



Category: Dark Angel
Genre: Food Kink, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 16:45:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ukefied/pseuds/Mina%20Lightstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: 44. Logan/Alec, (1st Time, Romance, Humor) Prompt:The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach and Logan Cale knows how to cook.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dinner for Two

**Author's Note:**

> For jam_pony_fic's summerfest. Set at an indeterminate time during early Season 2. In this episode, Logan and Max have generally agreed to see other people. Also I’m sorry, I can’t seem to write romance without it devolving into porn.
> 
> Prompt: 44. Logan/Alec, (1st Time, Romance, Humor) Prompt:The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach and Logan Cale knows how to cook.

Logan will never get used to being surprised in his own home. When Alec appears at the stove next to him, Logan almost hits him with the skillet.

“Don’t you people ever knock?” he demands, gripping the handle so hard his knuckles are turning white.

“Makes it hard to burgle,” Alec quips, studying the contents of the pan. “What’s cookin’?”

Despite himself, Logan feels his mouth pull into a little grin. “Sole Picatta. The sauce, rather.” He nods to the fillets on the counter. “The sauce will be joining them.” It’s thickening quite nicely, Logan notes. Should be done in just a moment. “Did you want something?” he asks pointedly.

Alec starts, looking up sharply from where he was salivating over the fish. “Oh. Yeah, just wanted to know if Max was here? She’s not answering her phone and I owe her a cut.”

“A cut?” Logan muses, quirking an eyebrow.

“It’s private, forget it. It can wait; she’s obviously not here.” Alec’s gaze drifts back to the plate on the counter. He licks his lips. Logan wonders if he even realizes he did it.

 _Must be a cat thing,_ he chuckles to himself. “I have two fillets,” he says. “Did you want one?”

“Can I really?” Alec brightens, looking way more excited than he should. It’s not like the transgenic is impoverished. But thinking about that just makes Logan ponder Manticore and training regimens and a distinct lack of home-cooked meals so he dismisses the thoughts.

“Set the table,” Logan says, flicking off the heat. He smiles indulgently when Alec flits around the kitchen, finding dishes and silverware by trial and error. Meanwhile, Logan gets another plate and piles it high with sole, boiled new potatoes, and steamed green beans. He seasons the sauce with salt and pepper and drizzles it over the food. The kitchen smells like capers, fish, and parsley.

He brings the plates to the table and finds two places set for a fancy meal. Alec even lit the candles and put wine glasses at each seat.

“What?” he asks, shifting under Logan’s scrutiny. “I had to be a waiter once.”

“Of course you did,” Logan replies, setting the steaming plates down. He goes to get a nice pinot blanc and pours them each a glass.

“Thanks,” Alec says, taking a small sip. Logan doesn’t figure him for a wine person, but he downs it easily enough.

Logan sips his own. It’s fresh, a hint of spiced apple and honey. It complements the sole perfectly. “Is it good?” he wonders, watching Alec pack it away.

“Mm-hm,” Alec replies with a full mouth. His plate’s nearly empty and his glass is already down by half.

Logan shakes his head. “Save room for dessert,” he cautions, and tries not to laugh when Alec sits up straighter. He swears the transgenic’s ears perked up.

He hadn’t actually planned on having dessert, but now he has a guest, so why not?

***

The second time Alec shows up for dinner, Logan is making three-cheese tortellini in alfredo sauce with mushrooms, tomato, and basil. The pasta is simmering on the stove, keeping warm while Logan’s homemade garlic bread and butter and broiling in the oven.

Logan isn’t taken by surprise this time, because Alec actually knocks on the kitchen doorframe.

“Max isn’t here,” he says automatically.

Alec scratches the back of his head, looking sheepish. “I know.” He lifts the white box he’s holding by a dainty blue string. “I brought thank-you cake.”

Logan finds himself smiling. “Thank-you notes are generally sent the day after the engagement.”

“It’s not a note,” Alec points out. “’S a cake.” He hefts the box again. “Black forest.”

Logan hums appreciatively. “You want to stay for dinner? Share it with me after?”

Alec swallows. “Sure,” he says. “Should I set the table?”

“Please.”

The tortellini is exquisite, if Logan does say so himself. They end up making short work of the garlic bread; Alec licks butter from his fingers and Logan tries not to stare. He pours them a mellow, fruity merlot and they drain the bottle. It’s a miracle they have room for cake. Well, it’s a miracle _Logan_ has room for cake.

Alec wanders into the kitchen while he’s cutting it and raids Logan’s fridge for milk. He drinks straight from the carton and Logan nearly yells at him to get a glass, but the words die in his throat while he watches Alec gulp with his head tipped back. Logan stares at his bobbing Adam’s apple and finds himself licking his own lips.

He has room for Alec….

“Come on,” the transgenic says, snapping him out of his reverie. “I want cake.”

Later, full of black forest and muddling through a pasta coma, Logan and Alec end up sitting on the couch watching mind-numbing television. It’s some old black-and-white movie that Logan doesn’t even know the name of, and he’s tipsy enough that he doesn’t even care. All he knows is that for some reason, he’s got a cat in his lap — which doesn’t make any sense because Alec is not drunk. But here he is, lying across Logan’s legs with a belly full of wine and tortellini and cake and milk.

And Logan is rubbing this tummy, he realizes. He stills, but Alec fidgets and makes a face so Logan starts rubbing again.

Is it the weirdest thing he’s ever done? It’s probably the weirdest thing he’s ever done.

***

It doesn’t take long for Logan to put figure out that Alec shows up for dinner dates — _dinner dates,_ seriously, Logan — on Wednesdays. Three more Wednesdays go by, and Logan makes peppercorn steak, honeyed chicken, and the greatest lasagna ever created (according to Alec.)

There’s wine with each meal, and Alec brings dessert. Ostensibly they are thank-yous for previous dinners, but Logan isn’t stupid. Alec’s doing what Logan didn’t know _he_ was doing until last Wednesday: luring a man by the taste buds. The only mystery is, Alec goes for what he wants — he takes chances. So if he wants Logan, as the gifts and post-meal cuddling seem to suggest, why doesn’t he just make a move?

Max, probably. Even if she and Logan aren’t together, he can understand that it’s still one of those _things_ between friends. Fine, Logan can get behind that.

Today, he decides to go rustic. He makes pulled pork with barbecue mustard sauce in the slow cooker and throws together some coleslaw. He substitutes their usual wine for beer, and by evening the smell of delicious cooked pork is filling the house.

Sometimes the simplest things are the best. Logan finds he has a hard time keeping his finger out of the sauce. He’s shredding a small sample for himself when Alec knocks on the doorframe.

“What smells so good?” the transgenic wonders.

Logan crooks a sauce-covered finger at him. “C’mere.” 

Alec complies, curious. Logan figures, this is it, and holds out the piece of barbecued meat. Alec blinks, because Logan’s holding it way too close for him to be expected to take it between his own fingers. They stare at each other for a moment, until Logan raises an expectant eyebrow, and Alec opens his mouth.

He makes a fucking _obscene_ noise, and Logan doesn’t know if that’s because of the pork, or Logan’s fingers. He releases Logan’s fingers with a wet pop and chews the meat.

“That’s delicious!” he exclaims, peeking around Logan to see the pot.

“ _Unf._ ” Logan throws caution to the wind, grabs Alec by his plain t-shirt, and shoves him back against the counter. Only when they’re kissing does Logan realize that Alec let him do it. It makes him groan — a long, guttural _unnnn_ as he plunders Alec’s mouth.

It _is_ delicious. Alec tastes like barbecue sauce and mustard and Worcestershire and brown sugar and honey and _heaven._ They make out for what seems like hours, until Logan’s glasses end up askew. When they break apart for him to take them off, Alec twists out of his embrace.

“What—?” Logan wonders, and finds himself spun around. Two strong hands grip his knees and haul him up onto the counter. He sits there, dumbfounded, while Alec fusses with his buttons. He’s pretty sure the transgenic just _manhandled_ him.

He’s pretty sure it was hot as hell.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Logan rasps, helping to shrug out of his shirt and toss it aside.

“Wanted to make sure,” Alec says, pulling his t-shirt over his head. “You’re a complicated man, Logan Cale.”

“Not that complicated,” Logan counters. He lifts the lid off the slow cooker and dips his finger in. It burns, but watching Alec lick the sauce from his finger is worth the pain. “What did you bring for dessert?”

“Coconut cream pie.” Alec glances up at him through long eyelashes. “Why, did you want something else?”

“You didn’t,” Logan laughs, cupping the back of Alec’s neck. “You didn’t bring out a line like that.”

“Was it terrible?” Alec feigns disappointment. He dips his fingers in the slow cooker. “Better keep my mouth busy or more will come out.”

“You,” Logan can’t finish, arching up into the heat when Alec dabs his nipples with the sauce. What follows is even more intense, when Alec sucks it away, sending little zinging sensations to his fingers and toes and back to his cock. His lips are sticky when he climbs up Logan’s neck back to his lips, but Logan doesn’t care. He doesn’t care one wit.

Alec steps back, pulling Logan off the countertop and dropping to his knees. “You think sous chefs have to do this?” he quips, working Logan’s pants open. “Before you can be the Executive Chef does he take you aside and say—”

“Alec,” Logan grits out, “ _suck my cock._ ”

“Hmm, yes, Chef,” Alec demurs, and then proceeds to put his mouth to much better use.

Logan drops his head back with a moan. Alec’s deep-throating like a champ, taking all of Logan with enthusiasm and skill that’s just a little intimidating. But mostly it’s mind-blowing. Logan mutters a string of obscenities peppered with _yes_ and _so good, baby_ and _more, please, more_. When he comes, Alec takes it all, drinking him down with a contented hum like he’s _grateful._

“Fucking hell,” Logan curses, sliding to the tiles.

“Mm,” Alec responds, leaning back on his heels. There’s a spot of sauce on the corner of his mouth. That’s all it takes.

Logan tackles him to the floor. He licks the sauce away and shoves his way inside, trying to chase his cum down Alec’s throat while fiddling with his belt. When they break apart, Logan kisses a line of fire down Alec’s chest and licks a warm stripe along the underside of his cock.

“Fuuuuck _me_ ,” Alec curses, canting his hips up.

“Should’ve said so earlier,” Logan laments. “Next time.” He licks the slit, lapping up some pre-come, and starts sucking the head ever-so-gently.

“Logan,” Alec gasps. “Please.”

And Logan takes pity on him.

***

They eventually eat dinner, curled up on the couch with plates and beer and old stupid movies they aren’t actually watching.

“Next Wednesday?” Alec asks as the credits roll.

Logan smiles at him. “How about breakfast?”

 

~End.


End file.
